


The End of the Beginning

by The13thBlackCat



Series: Maker, Know My Heart [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The13thBlackCat/pseuds/The13thBlackCat





	The End of the Beginning

   Maenfen’s head ached for a full day, and the rest of him continued to do so for two days after it dissipated, somewhat. It was simple overexertion—evidently, he’d used his magic to throw one of the Gallows’ statues practically into the harbor, but he didn’t remember that—and there was little to be done for it except rest. And rest was not easy, right now.

   He hadn’t been allowed to leave his bed for a while, but he heard things: Meredith was dead. Cullen was their Knight-Commander now, and doing everything he could to keep some order with Kirkwall’s templars—and, indeed, the city in general. Too many people had died in the Chantry explosion, and too many more in the Gallows after—but somehow, the general populace knew who had done it.

   A mage.

   The Gallows had been practically locked down for a full week, and at this point, none of the surviving Circle mages knew what was going to happen to them. Worst of all, he’d heard rumors he didn’t want to believe—of the Divine declaring an Exalted March on the city.

   And if that happened, every mage in it would be killed.

   Orsino had all but ordered the mages confined to the Circle, and for most of them, that wasn’t much to ask; they were scared, and it was hardly like they could go elsewhere. Once Maenfen was back on his feet, though, he headed for the Gallows—or, more specifically, the templar quarters.

   He tried Cullen’s quarters first, and was relieved to realize he was still there, if not currently in his office; at least, nothing had changed in it, so surely he hadn’t moved, despite his abrupt promotion. The elf let out a little breath, closing his eyes for a moment. _Something was still as it should be, at least._

   He made his way to Cullen’s desk—chaotic, right now, with papers that were probably unimportant at the moment. Still, he did his best to tidy it up, even though he didn’t think it would matter much to Cullen when he returned.

   One of the documents on top caught his attention. It was a recent one—from that week—regarding a ship, intended for Ferelden. Maenfen’s eyes narrowed, and he picked the page up, skimming it quickly. _Why was this here?_ For that matter, what was it _for?_ For a sickening moment, he realized Cullen was from Ferelden, originally. _He wasn’t going to—_

   Before he could finish the thought, the office door opened and Maenfen slapped the document back down guiltily, his eyes snapping up. Cullen stopped short in front of his door when he realized he wasn’t alone, then let out an explosive breath before gasping, “ _Mae._ ”

   He was across the room before Maenfen could respond, pulling the elf against his chest. Maenfen went tense for a second in alarm, then relaxed slowly, beginning, “Ser—“

   “Don’t ever do that again,” Cullen cut him off, his voice harsh. He cupped his hands around Maenfen’s face, swallowing, then continued, “I’d thought…if you…”

   He shook his head, then closed his eyes, his forehead meeting Maenfen’s. “You scared me,” he finished, his voice softening. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

   Maenfen laughed at that, short and a little tight. “So am I, ser.” For a few moments, neither of them said anything else. Maenfen wasn’t really sure why he’d come, to be honest, or what to say to Cullen, though it felt like something _should_ be said. Finally, he let out a slow breath.

   “I’m scared, Cullen.” It came out very quietly, his voice shaking a bit. Cullen didn’t answer at first.

   “I know,” he said after a few seconds, his voice soft. He pulled back a little, frowning at Maenfen as he reached up to brush his hair back. He stepped back, letting out a breath as he turned away from the mage.

   “That’s why you’re going to Ferelden.”

   The sentence was so absurd, for a moment Maenfen couldn’t even process what he’d said. Finally, his brain caught up and he gasped, “ _What?_ ”

   “Ferelden is safer,” Cullen began in answer. “I don’t know if I can get all of you out of here…but I’m sending the apprentices there.” He took a breath. “And you.”

   “Cullen, no!” Maenfen caught his arm, jerking him back around—as best he could, since Cullen was in full plate right now. “I’m not going to _leave_ you here! And…and I…I’ve never left Kirkwall! I can’t—“

   “You can,” Cullen cut him off, his voice sharp. Then, softer, “You will.” Frowning, he reached up to touch Maenfen’s cheek. “The apprentices will need someone they know with them, Mae. Besides, you’re not going alone.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Aetir is still in the city. I asked him to stay until you left. I trust him, Mae.”

   Maenfen bit his lip, ears dropping. “But Cullen… _you_ —“

   “I’ll be fine, Maenfen. I’m not the one in danger. You are.” He swallowed, dropping his head forward so their foreheads touched again. “Please, Mae. Don’t make this harder than it already is. You’ll be safe there, and Maker help me, you _are_ going if I have to tie you up and put you on the ship myself.”

   Maenfen dropped his eyes, quiet. He didn’t know much about Ferelden—it was supposed to be wet, muddy, and full of dogs, and that was about all he’d ever heard of it—and leaving Kirkwall, _Cullen,_ was terrifying. But Cullen was right—it was too dangerous here, especially for the apprentices, and the children were traumatized enough; having someone they knew go with them was the least they could do to make the transition easier—and Cullen was stubborn. Stubborn enough that he would probably do exactly what he had threatened.

   Maenfen let out a shaking breath, despite the nervous hammering in his chest. “…promise me you’ll be safe.”

   Cullen laughed shortly—bitter, sad—and cupped his hand around Maenfen’s cheek. “I promise I will try.”

   Maenfen swallowed, nodding. Right now, it was probably the best he could ask for. He took a breath.

   “Will we ever—“

   “Don’t ask me that, Mae,” Cullen cut him off. He swallowed, then stepped back, and his expression made Maenfen’s chest _ache._ “…I don’t know,” he added, very quietly, but it really meant _no_.

   Before Maenfen could answer, he turned back to his desk, letting out a short, harsh little breath. “You’re leaving in two days.” He looked up, then added without looking at Maenfen, “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

   Maenfen smiled, but it was sad.

   “I always do, ser.”

   


* * *

   


 

   Maenfen spent much of the trip to Ferelden trying not to be seasick; the sole distraction from it was the fact that he was the only one who knew the apprentices with them, and the one best-suited to keep them calm. Aetir was, somehow, absurdly calm through everything, which Maenfen was thankful for, and checked up on them often, though he tried not to get too involved. Zevran—Aetir’s husband, an Antivan elf Maenfen hadn’t met before in the one time he’d seen Aetir—kept to himself for the voyage, though Maenfen sometimes saw the two of them talking and shooting him little glances.

   By the time they got to Amaranthine, a week and a half later, Maenfen was halfway convinced he’d rather be dead, and he was never, _ever_ getting on a ship again. _Not that it will matter,_ he thought. Circles didn’t exactly _let_ their mages go seafaring, after all.

   They stayed with the Grey Wardens at Vigil’s Keep that night—as much to let _Maenfen_ recover as anything, the mage thought, judging by the pitying look Aetir had shot him when he’d announced it—and headed for Kinloch Hold the next day. It felt like it was an eternity away to Maenfen, so used to the Circle being within sight of a city’s harbor: Kinloch Hold was in the center of Ferelden, away from every major town or city except Redcliffe, which was across the lake the Circle was situated in.

   In short, he was convinced he was going to die before they ever got to the Circle, and that was before they even left Amaranthine.

   He didn’t, however, though every part of him ached by the time Kinloch Hold came into sight. It was far more impressive than Kirkwall’s Circle had been: a massive tower, rising dramatically out of the center of the lake. A few templars stood on the lake’s shore, evidently expecting them; the apprentices, exhausted and nervous, huddled a little closer to Maenfen at the sight, and it was all he could do to resist the urge to duck away from the templars himself.

   Aetir stepped forward to greet them, though, leaving Zevran behind with Maenfen. “Knight-Commander.”

   “Warden,” answered the templar in the front—a stern-looking man in his fifties or sixties, grey-haired and tired-looking. His eyes flicked to them—sharp and calculating—before returning to Aetir. “This is all of them, then?”

   Aetir sighed, nodding. “As many as we could get out, at least.”

   The Knight-Commander sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Maker’s breath.” He shook his head, then straightened a bit. “Right, well, standing around isn’t going to get them settled in any faster.”

   There weren’t many of them, and it didn’t take long to get the apprentices situated. The only way across the lake was by ferry— _wonderful,_ Maenfen thought bitterly, his stomach lurching—since the bridge to the tower looked like it had been destroyed ages ago. Maenfen hung back as long as he could, but before he had to force himself into the boat, Aetir caught his arm, making him jump.

   “Not you,” he said, his voice soft. Maenfen looked up at him, starting to ask what he meant, before the Knight-Commander approached.

   “Well, that’s all of them, then, and not a single one fell into the lake,” he said, his eyes going to Maenfen. “Except…”

   “He’s not going.” The templar arched an eyebrow at that, and Aetir added, “He’s coming with me.”

   “A Grey Warden?” The templar’s eyes went to Maenfen again as Aetir nodded, and he made a surprised little sound in his throat. “Well, it’s not up to me to judge.” He gave a little nod, then turned away.

   Maenfen had to bite his tongue to keep from squeaking in alarm at that, his eyes wide. Aetir had never mentioned _this._ He couldn’t be a Warden! Maker, he didn’t _want_ to be a Warden! Even leaving _Kirkwall_ had terrified him, _how_ —

   “Don’t worry,” Aetir said softly once the templars were out of earshot, “you’re not really becoming a Warden.” He chuckled softly, turning back towards the road. “That’s just the best way to keep Greagoir from asking questions.”

   “Wh-what?” Maenfen hurried after him— _aching,_ and wondering how Aetir didn’t seem remotely bothered by traveling across the damn country—and began, “What do you mean? Why are you—?”

   “You didn’t know?” Aetir paused, glancing at Maenfen in surprise. Maenfen stopped short, frowning, but before he could answer—didn’t know _what?_ —the Grey Warden continued: “Cullen asked me to keep you out of the Circle. I thought he’d told you.”

   There was a tight, painful little jerk in his chest, and for a few seconds Maenfen just stared at Aetir, mouth open, not sure what to say to that. _Cullen_ had? _Cullen,_ who believed _every_ mage should be locked up in a Circle?

   “He did?”

   “Well, _told_ is more apt,” Zevran answered for Aetir, ignoring the Warden’s annoyed little ear-flick.

   “Yes,” Aetir added. “So, officially, you’re a Warden recruit if anyone asks. More accurately, you’re just staying with me until further notice.” He sighed, ruffling his hair. “Not that I’m stopping you from running off to do what you please, if you want…but it’s probably best that you refrain from doing that. For a while, at least.”

   Maenfen just nodded, still reeling, and followed Aetir and Zevran back to the road.


End file.
